


To forget

by CrazyChicken



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-11
Updated: 2013-02-11
Packaged: 2017-11-28 23:21:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/680021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrazyChicken/pseuds/CrazyChicken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The thought that Marco might come back to Dortmund is what keeps Mario up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To forget

It was late and Mario was already in bed, but sleep didn’t come as quick as he was used to. He could say it was because of the fact that he still hadn’t made any resolutions for 2012, or because of the cold, or because he was just feeling bad in general, which had been happening too often, lately. But these were excuses, lies even. He did make resolutions, he had planned his New Year’s party, he had turned his thermostat up and he was feeling warm, almost too warm. Maybe he was even feeling good, a strange, nervous kind of good. But the thought that Marco might come back to Dortmund was the actual reason that kept him up.

They had talked about it more than once. It had started out as a joke, but throughout the year, it had become more serious. They hung around more often on days off and they were always fooling around when they were playing with the national team. Then December came and in one of their more serious conversations, Marco had asked him what he would think about him going back to Dortmund and Mario could not remember ever having a bigger smile on his face.

Of course, it wasn’t done with that. Negotiations and contracts and all were still to come. Marco had promised to call him when things were arranged, but Mario had heard nothing so far. He had been waiting the last couple of days. The fact he didn’t have a clue about what was going on, was freaking him out.

That was why he jumped when his phone finally rang. Mario’s heart skipped two beats when he saw Marco’s name lit up on the screen.

“Please, say you did it,” he said as he picked up the phone, clenching his eyes shut. This was no time to beat around the bush.

On the other side he could Marco burst out in laughter. “Good evening to you too, sir.”

Mario sighed, but he was relieved to hear Marco laugh. Laughter meant good news, he believed.

“Tell me,” Mario insisted.

“I’m signing the contract next week.”

The shriek that escaped from Mario’s mouth must have woken the entire neighbourhood, but he couldn’t care less. He heard Marco laugh again and realised he was drunk. He didn’t just think it, he knew it, so he didn’t ask the obvious. Instead he asked: “Whom are you with?”

“André, some friends from Monchengladbach, a few others,” Marco answered. “We’re having a little party at my place. Do you want to come too?”

“No, I’m okay,” Mario said, not just because he was already in his pyjama’s, but mostly because he didn’t feel like going to a party he wasn’t invited to in the first place. “Thanks for calling anyway.”

It stayed silent for a few seconds, except for the background noises of a party.

“Don’t be mad, Mario.”

“I’m not mad.”

“Yes, you are. I can hear it by the way you’re silent. This is a different kind of silence from any other.”

Marco had him. He knew Mario better than anyone and Mario knew that, so he gave in, not by saying anything, but by prolonging his silence.

“Look,” Marco started. “I’d really love to have you here.”

Mario was still waiting for the ‘but’ to come, when he realised there was none. Marco just really wanted him to be there and that was all. Full stop. The end.

“I can’t Marco. I’m already in bed,” Mario said, while standing up and walking to his wardrobe. What does one wear to a mini-transfer-party-thing?

“Please.” Marco’s voice was sincere.

Mario bit his lip for a second. He knew that Monchengladbach was still a long drive away and even though he had nothing important to do the next day, he wasn’t sure about it. There was no way he was going to sleep before sunrise and he had to admit, he was quite tired.

But then he imagined Marco, happier than ever because of his news, and he couldn’t refuse. It was _his_ news, _his_ celebration. “Sure.”

“Thank you.” He hung up the phone without further ado and Mario finally started to look forward to it; although he probably didn’t know most of the people that would be at the party in personal. He didn’t come for all those guys; he came for Marco.

 

Mario rang the doorbell, feeling nervous for some reason. He was an outsider in this group, he knew well enough. Luckily, Marco himself opened the door and his face lit up when he saw Mario.

“I’m so glad you made it,” he said, hugging his friend. He smelt like alcohol and old clothes.

“Me too,” Mario answered, breathing in deep.

Marco stood still and looked at him for a few lingering seconds, as if he wanted to say something. All that came out eventually was: “Really, really glad.”

When they entered the living room, Mario realised the party was already at its end. It wasn’t as crowded as Mario had estimated from the sounds over the telephone line and those who were still there, lay lazily on couches and chairs.

“Is André back?” someone asked. His back was turned towards the door, so Mario couldn’t make out who he was.

“No, it’s Mario!” Marco said and a few people looked his way.

“Welcome, Mario!” someone else shouted, who looked vaguely familiar. “Did you eat André?”

Mario looked at Marco for help, because he had no idea why he would ever _eat_ another person, but Marco just shook his head, half in despair.

“Let it go. André is gone. I think he was just tired of the party.”

“ _Ja, ja_ ,” a voice sounded from the kitchen and Mario got the feeling that he was missing out on an inside joke, but he was afraid of asking what it was. He let the fuzz pass and gladly accepted when Marco offered him a drink. He didn’t even know what it was, but he downed it right away.

 

It was three o’clock when the last guest left and Mario and Marco were alone.

“Are you ever going home?” Marco asked sheepishly as he started to clean up the mess. He didn’t get far, because he was too tired, so he gave up after two empty bottles.

“Hm, I kind of promised my parents that I’d sleep at your place, because they thought it would be too late to drive all the way home. I hope you don’t mind.”

“Of course not. You can sleep on the...” he started but after a quick glance at the dirty couch, he realised it wasn’t a good idea. “Em, in my bed, I think. It’s huge, so don’t be afraid that I’ll kick you out at night.”

“What?” There was shock in his eyes. “Are we going to _share_ a bed?”

“Are you willing to sleep on the ground?” Marco replied sassily.

Mario thought for a few seconds and then realised sharing the bed was indeed the best solution, although it was awkward. They had had too much alcohol to truly care anyway, so they didn’t even think about making a barrier of pillows.

They were already in bed, backs turned towards each other. The lights were dimmed and Mario thought Marco was already asleep, when the latter suddenly asked: “Are you awake?”

“Hm.”

“You have a girlfriend, right?”

“Sort of.”

“Have you ever cheated on her?”

“No.”

Marco nodded. Mario couldn’t see him moving, but he could tell by the way the sheets made a soft sound. They both thought about the short conversation for a few minutes, when Marco picked it up again.

“Mario? Are you still awake?”

“I will probably stay awake all night if you keep asking questions.”

“I’m sorry.” Marco turned around, so he could look at Mario and his friend followed his example. “This isn’t cheating, _oder_?”

Mario laughed. “Of course not. We’re sleeping in one bed, but we’re not sleeping _together_. Or well, we are sleeping together, but not... well, you know what I mean.”

Marco was too far gone to let this moment pass. “No, I don’t follow.” He grinned.

“We’re not having sex.”

Even in the dark Marco could see his face turn red. It was almost cute, the way his younger friend was so ashamed of talking about sex.

“That’s your definition of cheating?” Marco asked, just to be sure. Some voice of reason yelled at him to stop, but the alcohol was blocking that voice.

“Yeah...”

“Then what’s this?” Marco leaned in and before either could have any thoughts at all, their lips collided, wet and tired.

Mario backed off and looked at Marco and he had honestly no idea what it was. “A goodnight kiss,” he said eventually and it made his friend laugh out loud.

“Well, good night then.” Marco turned around and fell asleep only minutes later, Mario could tell by the noises coming out of the back of his throat. It wasn’t quite snoring, but it was a loud kind of breathing. It was a nice kind of lullaby, yet Mario could not fall asleep at all.

It seemed that the phone call with the good news hadn’t cured his insomnia. If anything, it had only made it worse, ironically.

 

 _O Gott!_ was Mario’s first thought when he woke up next to Marco. He had seen movies in which people woke up without any memory of the last night and for a moment he feared that he had become part of such a nightmare. But then it all came back to him, and although his memories weren’t as bad as he had expected, they still didn’t keep his mind from going calling to a god he didn’t believe in.

He sat up straight and panicked, which made Marco wake up.

“ _Gott_...” Marco mumbled into the sheets, when he saw Mario’s wide-eyed gaze. “Shit. What did we... Fuck.” He crawled back under the blankets to hide his face from either the sunlight, or Mario’s eyes.

“No, we didn’t,” Mario replied and then Marco’s head reappeared from under the blankets.

“We didn’t what?”

“Fuck.”

It took Marco a few moments to wake up and realise what was going on. “Okay. Oh, okay. Good.” He didn’t look convinced though, only very confused. His blonde hair was a mess, his mohawk nowhere to be seen.

“We did kiss, however,” Mario added, just to tease his friend. Marco’s eyes grew wide. “But we sort of agreed that that didn’t count as cheating.” It wasn’t that much of a comfort, but at least it distracted Mario.

“What do you mean, ‘sort of agreed’?”

“Well... you said so and then you kissed me and I guess at one point I kissed back, or not. I don’t remember it all too well.” The truth was the he _did_ remember it all too well. He remembered being so taken aback that he couldn’t even kiss him back, whether he wanted to our not. But somehow, he liked to have Marco think that it went differently and apparently, he bought it.

“Aha,” Mario said and then he added, matter-of-factly: “Was I good?”

“Hm.” Mario pretended to be considering it. “It was okay. Eight out of ten, I think.”

“That’s pretty damn good for a drunken kiss.” Marco shrugged. “Thanks. I’ve always wanted to know that.” He patted Mario on the shoulder before he got up and started collecting clothes from his closet.

“Marco...” Mario hesitated. “This is all, right? We can just forget this?”

“Forget what?” Marco replied with a wink before he disappeared into the shower.

Mario smiled behind his back and was more than happy to know that it could be this easy. “I’m really glad we’re friends,” he whispered through the door but he wasn’t sure Marco had heard it, because he never answered.

But maybe that was just part of the forgetting.

 

Mario used his shower and then he turned on his phone, only to find out his parents had tried to call him five times. He decided to call them back, to let them know he was okay. Then he went to Marco’s living room, his hair still dripping and messy.

He was playing Mario Kart on his Play Station and didn’t notice Mario coming.

“Can I join you?”

Marco startled for a second, but then he turned around, saying: “Sure. Let me just reset it.”

“I want to top, though.”

This made Marco turn back, raising an eyebrow. “Top?”

“I mean, I want to be on the top screen.”

“I was already playing, so you’re going to have to bottom today.”

“This game is named after me. I’m sorry, but that’s just the most valid argument in the world.”

He sat down on the couch, stole the controller and started resetting the game himself.

“It’s a horrible argument and you’re a moaning bitch.” Marco stole the controller back. He had to admit that he liked the game they were playing. The game that involved no cars, or balls.

“You’re the one who moans in his sleep, you know.”

Marco didn’t protest when Mario took the controller from his hand again. “Okay then, I will bottom today.” He had a crooked grin on his face as he watched his friend set up the game.

Both raced terrible that morning. Not because Marco was bottoming; bottom or top, it really didn’t make that much difference in Mario Kart. It wasn’t because Mario was tired or hungover or because he wanted Marco to win, because it was _his_ transfer. It was because they knew they could not simply forget.


End file.
